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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26516338">Our Father</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elanor_Hermione/pseuds/Elanor_Hermione'>Elanor_Hermione</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Catholic Prayers, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Episode: s02e10 Hunted, Episode: s02e11 Playthings, Episode: s02e13 Houses of the Holy, Episode: s02e14 Born Under a Bad Sign, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, Sam Winchester-centric, inner thoughts, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:47:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,696</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26516338</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elanor_Hermione/pseuds/Elanor_Hermione</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam had something inside him, he didn't know what, something his brother had to save him from, according to his father.<br/>He wasn't really hopeful about his future, but maybe he could find some comfort in what human beings have done for millennia: praying.<br/>So he starts praying everyday, hoping that somebody would listen and help him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Our Father</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome!  :)<br/>English is not my first language, and since I'm not particularly good at writing and I need a lot of practice, I thought: "What's the best way of practising? Fanfiction, of course!"<br/>So here I am. Please, let me know if there are mistakes and where I can improve.<br/>Enjoy and have a nice day! :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>"He just said that I had to save you, that nothing else mattered; and that if I couldn't, I'd... That I'd have to kill you. He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy."</p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>Sam was sitting on a bed in a motel room halfway between Oregon, where he had left Dean, and Nebraska, where he hoped Ash could help him. The lights were switched off, the only sources of illumination were the moonlight and the road lamps shining outside, whose beams streamed through the holes of the roller shutter; somehow being surrounded by darkness had a soothing effect on his soul, calming him down and letting go of all those negative emotions he had stored during that day, that awful day, begun badly thanks to the demonic virus and ended even worse, with his father's words being revealed.<br/>
How could his dad keep this horrible secret from him? And Dean? He was the one in danger, the one involved in this situation, he should have been the first person to ever know, but as usual in the Winchester family the truth was always hidden from the ones who needed to be informed the most.</p><p><br/>
He sighed and clenched his fists, feeling rage and hatred running wild through his veins.</p><p><br/>
For while he was able to understand Dean's reasons and needs, he couldn't make excuses for his old man's behaviour: surely he had been aware of something or at least had suspicions about him for a lot of time, maybe months or even years (was that the reason of his disappearance?), yet he waited until the very last moment to pass this incredible burden on to his eldest son.<br/>
And what was he thinking, asking Dean to eventually kill his own brother, the brother he had spent an entire life protecting?<br/>
He shook his head, trying not to think further about his dead father: what was done couldn't be changed now, so it was useless to focus for too long on it. But the future didn't seem promising either: he was tempted to say he'd be damned if he didn't figure out a way to save himself, but apparently that was exactly what was going to happen.</p><p><br/>
According to his dad, he was dangerous and not trust-worthy.<br/>
Now, one could say everything about John Winchester, his flaws might be talked about for hours, but he wasn't that kind of man who believed at everything without further research, and he surely wasn't known for making things up. Which means that he wasn't lying and something was really off with Sam, even though nobody was aware of the exact nature of the problem (how were they supposed to destroy something without any information about its nature?).</p><p>He shut his eyes tightly, however a tear rolled down his cheek and all the way down his face, just to fall on his leg and leave a little wet spot on it. Soon after other tears joined the first; in the lonliness of his room, Sam started crying, no longer able to suppress his storming emotions, his sadness, his anger, his fear.</p><p><br/>
As a kid he used to feel unclean, and now he got the confirmation that he had been right about this all the time.<br/>
As a kid, to feel better, he used to pray sometimes: little sentences of sorrow or relief spoken by a child to somebody impossible to be heard or seen, somebody inherently good who could help him, somebody able to love and forgive more than anyone else.<br/>
Perhaps... Perhaps that was the key, his only hope of salvation, his only escape from eternal perdition: since it seemed that he couldn't be trusted with his own destiny, maybe he might seek non human help.<br/>
Wiping away his tears with one hand, he kneeled down on the floor, his elbows resting on the bed, his head over his shaking hands crossed together.<br/>
There was only one problem: he didn't even know how to start, what to do... Should he be informal, just talking and ending with an “amen”, or should he say a proper prayer, as Pastor Jim once taught him?<br/>
At his stake there was his life, maybe his soul, and most importantly, Dean's conscience, so probably something formal and solemn was better suited.<br/>
Taking a deep breath, the silence of the room was broken by a voice, quiet and a bit trembling, that repeated the words human beings had been using for centuries in hundreds of languages:</p><p>
  <em>“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come,...”</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>A man was dead. In another room of this beautiful, old hotel called “Pierpont Inn.”, the vodoo magic killed again, and they weren't any near to find whoever was evoking it.<br/>
All because they (or better, he) had not been fast enough; he spent his whole life hunting things and saving people, yet in less than a day it was proved to him how much of a failure he was, and the corpse at the morgue was a constant reminder of that. Speaking of failing, they still ignored what he should be saved from, neither Dean nor Ash had been able to help him.</p><p><br/>
He heard the little girl, Tyler, running in the playground outside, and got focused on the case again by the sound of her voice.<br/>
Why was he so slow and useless? Why didn't he foresee that man's death? Why didn't he at least feel that something was wrong? His instinct was usually precise, telling him if things were about to go pear-shaped, but the last day he didn't sense the attack.<br/>
It almost looked like... No, no, no, he couldn't think like that. He was sorry for that dead man, he really was, he cared about other humans! He couldn't bear the idea that he didn't suspect a thing because deep down, at heart, he was indifferent to men. No, this was false, ridiculous, impossible. He was there to help and save that woman and her family, he desperately wanted to, so he was a good person, at least partially, right? He wouldn't be there if people meant nothing to him.<br/>
But what if that mysterious being he had to be protected from would eventually rob him of his humanity? What if it had already begun, slowly and subtly? What would he become? Well, at least the answer to that question was simple: a non human, a monster.</p><p><br/>
What could Dean possibly do against this invisible and unknown threat? What could he himself do? He refused to be a damsel in distress, but he had no weapon at all to fight whatever was lurking in the dark waiting for him.<br/>
The image of the corpse taken away by the police came to his mind: probably now that stranger was in peace, wherever he was. Except for Hell, death consisted basically in freedom from pain and sufference, for nothing was corruptible if not alive.<br/>
The Sun was going down, preparing Earth for another night of rest; in the garden no one was playing anymore, and not even the wind could be heard. Everything was peaceful; everything was relaxed; everything... but Sam.</p><p><br/>
He stared at the clock for a couple of minutes, making up his mind: he decided he was going to ask Dean something terrible, something he really didn't want to ask him. But he was forced to, he felt he couldn't wait any longer, and Dean was the only one he could trust.<br/>
Since he had no way to avoid his fate, there was only one way to prevent things from going south: death. Like his father before him, he was about to demand an immoral and impossible task from his brother, but he needed a promise. He needed to be sure he'd be killed in case he turned evil, before harming somebody or losing all of his humanity.<br/>
He realised that this was too awful a thing to be dealt with while sober: he required alcohol. An extraordinary amount of alcohol.</p><p><br/>
He got up and grabbed his wallet, but just as he was heading out he stopped.<br/>
Yes, alcohol and Dean's promise were necessary, but his heart was telling him to do something else first.<br/>
Stepping back, he closed his eyes and bowed his head, trying to cool down his mind; some seconds later the silence of the room was cracked by his humble voice:</p><p>
  <em>“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name;...”</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>In the end, it wasn't an angel but a ghost the entity who commanded the killings. He remembered he was over the moon when he saw the light and heard the voice telling him to slay that man: he had seen an angel, an actual angel, the proof not only that everything he believed in was real, but also that he was worthy, he was good, maybe even pure. After all, an angel had chosen him to accomplish his task, not Dean, not another random peasant, but Sam Winchester himself.</p><p>He laughed bitterly recalling how hopeful and faithful he felt.</p><p><br/>
He couldn't understand Dean's disbelief, because his blind trust had taken control all over him, and, to be honest, not only he didn't believe it might be a spirit, but he actually didn't want to, fearing the incredible disappointment he would inevitably feel.<br/>
Well, now he faced that very fear, because it was really just a ghost, a priest who died and wasn't able to let go of life, nothing angelic or divine.</p><p><br/>
The sound of his heart breaking and his hopes dropping down was still resonating in his ears, and probably he would never get rid of that, even though there had never been any actual sound since those were only emotions.If it hadn't been for Dean, now a corpse would be at the morgue because of him, stupid enough to trust a phantom; sure, that guy had tried to abuse his girlfriend and Dean was barely in time to save her, but he was still human, still redeemable.</p><p><br/>
Dean... It was Dean who kept focused the whole time, analysing the situation before acting, making researches and looking for clues to have a real picture of what was happening. He knew that his brother had dismissed the angel option for a lack of faith, but still, it was the right path to take: he should have been surer of the entity's nature before jumping to conclusions and almost assassinating a human being.<br/>
Speaking of Dean, now his little secret was not a secret anymore: Dean knowing about his praying habit made it feel absurd, and he almost regretted telling him. It was something extremely personal, something he had to keep for himself, something Dean shouldn't have been involved with, since he found the possibility of the existence of a greater good hilarious and laughable.</p><p><br/>
Since the day his father's last words were revealed, he had prayed every single day, without exception; he wasn't about to give up that day.<br/>
For even if this time it was just a spirit, he could perceive, among all the feelings of disappointment and shame in his heart, a little bit of hope: he had not seen any angel, but that didn't mean they didn't exist. Maybe one day he could see one, maybe after his death one would come and take his soul... No, that was just an utopia, there was no way he could deserve such a great blessing.<br/>
But perhaps, sooner or later, he might be able to find a proof of their existence: after all, they were hunters who faced on a daily basis things that everybody else thouht of as irreal, so who was he to say with absolute certainty that they were just an illusion, a product of human mind?<br/>
With this new hope in his heart and Dean's snoring in his ears, he opened his mouth, letting those familiar words flow out:</p><p>
  <em>“Our Father, who art in Heaven,...”</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>No.</p><p>No. No.</p><p>No way. Absolutely not.</p><p>This was impossible, it couldn't be real.</p><p><br/>
He killed a man. He killed a demon hunter. He killed an innocent father, who loved his daughter and was loved back by the little girl: the letter on the desk was lovely, but heartbreaking to read.<br/>
And there was more: he didn't remember absolutely anything, not even a glimpse of the brutal assassination, and if it hadn't been for the video tapes he wouldn't even know the atrocious crime committed by his own two hands.<br/>
The sword of Damocles hung on him by his father had finally fallen, unleashing a force he wasn't able to contain.<br/>
He went dark side. There was no other possible explanation, despite Dean's continuous excuses. Whatever they were unconciously fighting, it won, they were defeated: it was time for them to surrender, and to admit defeat.</p><p><br/>
Not that there were many possibilities of victory to begin with. They were two of the best hunters of America, despite their young age, but they were used to beat monsters they knew, or at least monsters they could research about.<br/>
They had never tried to challenge an invisible threat they knew nothing about, and hopefully it would be their last. Or at least, hopefully it would be Dean's last, since it was clear to him that after this night's events he had lost his rigt to be alive.<br/>
He had one opportunity and he wasted it, letting himself be overwhelmed by... By...<br/>
It felt wrong to die because of something before being informed of what it was: he would have liked to be aware of at least the name of his enemy, even just to understand what they could have done different.</p><p><br/>
From the Impala's shotgun he saw Dean opening their room's door, and his heart cracked. This was the last time he'd see his brother. This was the last time he'd seat on that car. This was the last time he could appreciate life.<br/>
He felt his eyes watering with tears, but he stubbornly shut them, not letting himself the pleasure to cry and release all his emotions. Crying was humans' trait, their privilege: taking that hunter's life without even being aware of it marked him as a monster, an evil being that couldn't be treated as a man.<br/>
He breathed deeply, tryig to cool himself down.</p><p><br/>
It was time for Dean to keep his promise. The promise was born as a simple insurance, because deep down they were confident that it wouldn't be necessary: thay were so arrogant they really thought that in the end they would come out victorious from this battle. But now the truth was revealed: there was nothing else to do.<br/>
He felt extremely sorry for his brother: Dean had saved his life dozens of times, but now he was required to end Sam, like an angry dog impossible to control. He could just hope that he'd see it as an inevitable sacrifice, rather than the cold blooded murder it actually was (somehow though he highly doubted that, knowing his brother too well to think he'd be at peace with what he had to do).</p><p><br/>
The stars were shining bright in the sky above him, not even one cloud was hiding them. Everything was peaceful and quiet, the perfect night to die.</p><p><br/>
He suddenly thought of all the prayers he had recited: they helped him to keep high his spirits, but they proved themselves completely useless.<br/>
He snorted; he had prayed every single day, putting his whole soul in those words, yet here they were.<br/>
Somehow though, it seemed quite a shame to pray everyday but the most important one, his last. So he raised his head, looking directly at those distant stars, and opened his mouth to speak.<br/>
But apparently even this simple comfort was denied to him. For centuries dying men had seeked consolation in religion, but nonetheless not a single sound was coming out of his mouth, and he was trying really hard, pushing his vocal cords until they were hurting.<br/>
He sighed and gave up, resined.<br/>
Ignoring this physical impediment, his mind started to shout those little words that his mouth couldn't pronounce aloud:</p><p>
  <em>“Our Father...”</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A little clarification about the last part: since it is set during "Born Under a Bad Sign" (2x14), when Sam is possessed by Meg, I headcanoned that she was preventing him from praying aloud. Of course, Sam doesn't know this (he will figure out the possession only later) and thinks that he is the worst human being ever, which we know is not true at all.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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